


Absence

by Virtual_Reality



Series: Steve and Bucky through the years [28]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: A little bit of flirting, Angst, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Cigarettes, I don't know, Lonely Bucky Barnes, M/M, Masturbation, Not Canon Compliant, Phone Sex, References to Depression, Service Dogs, Texting, Therapy, i've never written phone sex before, kinda cringy?, therapy dogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-10-30 18:26:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17833814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Virtual_Reality/pseuds/Virtual_Reality
Summary: Part of a series.





	Absence

Clint was in charge of making the rounds, making sure everything was in order for their flight. Checking the equipment over, and prepping the Quinjet for departure. On average, this takes about ten minutes, but he’s able to stretch it out to fifteen without making it look obvious.

It was a well meant attempt to give everyone ample time to say their goodbyes. Well, to give Bucky time. Bucky never asked for anything, so when Clint found his text, he couldn't help but make an honest effort. If anyone noticed, they didn't say anything. So he took his time.

After a while, he started his rounds again - so casually that Natasha was giving him that look. That look that made him believe she always knew what was going on, even if she was asking. The look that made him afraid to lie to her, not that he was tempted with that often. He took the smallest glance along the platform to where Bucky and Steve had just arrived. Natasha followed his gaze, and with a quiet nod, let him go about his making himself look busy. It wasn't special treatment, per se. They've all had their turn saying a difficult goodbye. They could spare ten more minutes.

*****

Bucky stood in the doorway of their walk-in closet while Steve packed. Peaceful in his afterglow, all wrapped up in their bedsheets, but as he came out of his pleasant, hazy state, he became more aware of the fact that Steve was leaving. That he'd be gone in a matter of minutes. Forty six minutes, to be exact.

It was down to this, the last few minutes before Steve left. A few nights away from Steve would be no problem, but the secretive nature of the mission made him nervous.

It was hard because he had that feeling. That eerie feeling that this has all happened before. That feeling that things were about to change, and he hated watching Steve walk away not knowing if this would be another one of those times. Because even though they have each other, that didn’t mean they hadn’t lost each other. They’d lost each other so many times, and with each time, they’d lost part of themselve, never to be recovered, and when Steve left him in the dark like this, it scared him.

It was hard because Bucky knows Steve. He knows he’s smart, he knows he’s good in a fight, but he also knows he’s reckless. He’s noble. He’ll throw himself on a fuckin’ grenade without even thinking about it, and though that was admirable and all, Bucky needs him. He needs Steve to come back home this time, because he doesn’t know what he’s got left without him.

It’s also hard because he knows Steve's too goddamn noble to stick up for himself in ways that are, at least sometimes, necessary. But Bucky's always handled the whole killing thing better than Steve. Not that he was proud of that. He just... He wished he knew that Steve would save his own life if the risk got to that point. He wished he knew that Steve would try - really try - to come back home to him. Because now more than ever, it felt like Steve was the only thing keeping him alive, and without him, he didn’t know what to expect from himself.

“That just about does it,” Steve says, and he’s got full uniform to Bucky’s bedsheet. Boots, gloves, and everything. “I’ll leave you the laptop, but I’m taking the tablet.”

Bucky nods absently, and Steve stops to look at him. Turn his body towards him and really take in his posture. “You gonna be okay?”

Bucky stares at him for a moment, tips his head back, and offers a lazy smirk, “Course I am.”

Steve moves from his bag, takes the few steps towards Bucky and envelopes him in his arms. “I’d like to take you with me.” Steve murmurs, mouth descending on his in a long, slow kiss. “Wish I had time to show you why.” Steve whispers, still close enough for Bucky to feel the words against his skin.

“Again? It's been, what, twenty minutes?”

“Yes, again,” Steve huffs, “You’re wearing our bedsheets,” he murmurs, nose bumping against Bucky’s as he tries to steal another kiss, “I could… you know, I could ravish you.”

It makes Bucky smile, but only briefly. He holds Steve’s chin in his fingers, kisses him, then fixes him with a hard stare. “You’d better come home to me.”

Steve’s brows crease, and Bucky shakes his head.

“None of that,” he says, “We’re done talking about it. Now, I just need you to promise me you’re going to do what you gotta do to get your ass back home.”

Steve’s quiet for a moment, but Bucky is unwavering. “I promise.” he says.

Bucky nods, moves his hand from Steve’s chin to cup the back of his neck. “Good.” There’s a moment, a moment where Bucky just focuses on the feeling of Steve’s hands, the weight of them on his waist, the warmth of them where they rested, and he moves his own arms, pressing his hands, both of them, to Steve’s chest. “What time is your plane?”

“Ten.”

Bucky curses softly.

Steve’s hands feel down his sides, rest clasped at his lower back. “Sorry.”

Bucky huffs, pushes back to look at him, but stops when his sheet slips from his shoulders, falling to where Steve’s hands rest in the small of his back.

“You want to put some clothes on? See me off?”

"No." Bucky says, though he knows it's not really a question. He pulls back, going for the dresser. “So begins the dry spell.” Bucky mumbles.

“Don't remind me.”

Clint is still doing the rounds when they get downstairs, and Steve watches a second, and checking his watch, turning back to look at Bucky, and saying, “Must be a problem with the ship. Clint's usually really quick.”

“Oh…”

“Huh.” Steve shoulders his bag, “Weird.”

"Yeah..." Bucky says softly, and reaches for his phone to text Clint he was ready.

"I'll call you when I get there," Steve says. "and I'll call you again before bed." 

Bucky nods, crossing his arms to try and keep Steve from moving closer. He'd explicitly told Steve he didn't want a sappy goodbye in front of everyone, but he's inching closer and closer, and Bucky somehow knows he's not going to last. “I'll see you later. Okay?”

Steve reached forward, struggling a moment with it, like he knew he was about to screw everything up, but he couldn't help himself. He did it quickly, pulling Bucky into his arms, like maybe it wouldn't count in he got it over with quickly. He hugged him close again, pushed his face against Bucky's hair, exhaled sharply. “I’ll see you in a week.” Steve sighs.

“Be good,” Bucky murmurs, patting his chest gently.

“I love you,” Steve says, and they kiss, and Steve’s gone. Tearing himself away too quickly, and walking straight for the plane, and it might have been too much for him, had Steve not looked back. Shared that final smile with him before he disappeared onto the plane.

The first day wasn’t that bad. Bucky knew it was preliminary stuff: travel, briefings, names and faces. There was nothing to be concerned about. It was the following days that got him. A day alone was no big deal, even two. Bucky’s spent nights alone before. It was the quantity of them.

After the third day, when the news started covering it, it began to get harder. Up to the point where Miss Potts developed a very sudden interest in a vegan cooking show that just happened to elapse the newshour. Bucky hated the feeling that people were hiding things from him, but sometimes not knowing was easier.

It was easier than he’d imagined it would be. The nightly phone calls took the edge off, but after three sleepless nights, Bucky just wanted Steve to come back. He was worried, and afraid, and it was a strange fear, a fear that felt like anger. A fear that rested behind gritted teeth, and just on the verge of tears. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, maybe he could handle it, but he felt the eyes on him. The quick glances, and lingering stares. He could feel the security camera on the back of his neck, prickling his skin with something akin to paranoia, and he has to be strong. He felt obligated to be strong.

After a few days, when he stopped pouting, according to Pepper, who was annoyingly good at calling him out on his bullshit, he actually found living alone wasn’t so bad. Especially now that he had some stability, and once he stopped feeling sorry for himself, he discovered Steve was really good about texting back quickly, and took full advantage of that.

The nights were always a little more difficult, well, a lot more difficult, but mostly because their apartment seemed a lot colder without his human furnace at his side. So much so that he realized he didn’t even know where the thermostat was, or if there even was a manual control for it. He made a note to ask Steve during their nightly call.

On his lunch break Saturday, he walked the grounds and smoked a cigarette that Steve would not hear about, threw a tennis ball for Beau, and wrote in his notebook. It wasn’t really that Steve cared whether or not he smoked, but skipping meals was a big deal in Steve’s all righteous book, but it wasn't like he did it often. Only when stress left his stomach in knots, and took his appetite.

One to six passed in no time at all, unfortunately, and Bucky wanders around the tower a little, looking for something to do with his life, only to end up outside with Beau again, tossing a frisbee on one of the training grounds. He grabs some takeout from a little hole in the wall mexican restaurant, and eats it at the table for some reason, and he’s still there when Steve calls.

It was their nightly ritual, and Bucky grabs a second beer from the fridge, and moves to the couch for it. That's where he stays all night, waking with Beau curled up at his feet, and both blankets from the back of the couch wrapped around him.

Daylight hadn't even begun to break over the horizon Sunday morning when James woke, but it really didn’t matter. He showered, and dressed, and fed Beau, and raided the fridge for something breakfast-worthy. He then convinced himself he could make an omelet, and ultimately settled for scrambled eggs when he screwed it up, but he's so proud of himself, he doesn't even care.

It’s probably not a good idea to eat breakfast before five in the morning, but he doesn’t really care. If he’s hungry at seven, he’ll put in his order with Pepper’s and have a second breakfast, and nobody would even know.

He texts Steve his great accomplishment while he eats: 'Scrambled eggs. Fuck yes.'

To which he responds: 'Why r u scrambling eggs at 430 in the morning?'

So, Bucky replied: 'Do I tell u how to live ur life?'

He does order a second breakfast, and it’s so much better than his first was. Done by someone who knew how to cook, no doubt, which is basically cheating. Steve finds this funny, and Bucky is only mildly offended, or so he pretends to be when he texts him back.

It was a good day. The best he'd had in what felt like a long time, so by the time it was midday, it was only fitting that his luck run out. It was nearly three when he got the email that one of their contributors had withdrawn their support, and that - that was just fabulous and James had that whole shitstorm to deal with for the next three hours.

It was mostly irritating because the Gala was in, like, two weeks, and everything was practically organized.

He tries his best not to complain to Steve about it, but he’s still cranky when he clocks out almost two hours late, and all he wants to do is curl up with Steve. Preferably in a hot bath. He was forced to settle for eating half a microwave pizza, jerking off in the shower, and waiting for a call from Steve.

“I miss you.” Bucky says over the phone that night, curled up on the bed, eyes falling on the empty space beside him. He didn't want to make Steve worried, or sad, or even distracted, but it had been days. ten days of being strong, and Bucky had to say something.

“I miss you too, sweetheart.” Steve says softly, and Bucky sighs, rolls onto his back so he doesn't have to see the empty mattress. He hasn't slept on the bed but once since Steve left. It was just too big. Too cold. Too empty. He doesn't know why he tortures himself with it now. He'd just hoped that maybe Steve's pillow would still smell like him, the scent that was already gone from his hoodie, and fading fast from the sofa.

He bit his lip, trying to think of a way to lighten the conversation in the heaviness of his thoughts. “I miss your dick, mostly.” He tries, as casually as he could, blinking up at the ceiling.

Steve snorts in response, and it makes Bucky smile, albeit painfully. “Hot.”

Bucky closes his eyes, trying to ignore the clenching in his chest. He missed him so much. “When are you coming home?” He asks softly, then quickly adds, “I can plan my day off that day.”

“I don't want to get your hopes up, but I should be home by tomorrow night.” Steve says.

“No.” Bucky groans softly, “I can't take off tomorrow. I’m gonna be fuckin’ swamped tomorrow.”

“I thought you’d be happy to see me.” Steve chuckles.

“No, I'm… I'll deal with it, but, yeah, no day off.” Bucky sighs. “Hey, I meant to ask before. Where’s the thermostat?”

“It's a little panel in the linen closet. Second shelf on the right.”

“We have a linen closet?” Bucky pulls the blankets up around him.

"Yeah?" Steve chuckles, "It's that cabinet in the laundry room."

"Oh." Bucky says, “Why do you keep it so damn cold in here, anyway?”

“Uh,” There was a moment’s hesitation, “It's set to adjust to body temperatures or something. Guess it overcompensates.”

“Oh.” Bucky says, then sighs. He can tell when Steve is lying. “The truth?”

There's a pause. “Well,” Steve starts, “you can be so self-deprecating... So, I keep it cold so you’ll always have a reason to cuddle up beside me when you get back from work every day. Y'know, without feeling guilty or needy or whatever.”

Bucky was quiet for a minute, a knot forming in his throat in spite of how hard he tried not to be moved by this. He swallows past it.

“Sometimes, it's easier to say ‘I'm cold’ than ’I'm sad’ or ‘I'm lonely’.” Steve finishes quietly, trailing off into silence. “You can turn it up.”

Bucky had no such intention. He grabs his blanket. He’ll sleep on the couch again. He can't deal with this right now.

Steve wasn’t home the next night, and it was hard to be let down after looking forward to seeing him all day. Steve had called him during his lunch hour, and explained everything, but some part of him still hoped Steve would be there when he got home. It was a selfish want, Bucky knows. The safety of his friends and a lot of others was in Steve’s hands right now, but he still wanted him home. He wanted him safe at his side, and it was frustrating how much further away he seemed to get with each day he was gone. It was maddening.

Miss Potts basically forces him to take Friday off, because it was mandatory that he get some time off. He stayed in bed as long as he could. He had nothing to do, nowhere to go, nobody to talk to. No reason to get up. Just a dull day. A day he merely existed, and it was hard.

He knows he's been working himself pretty hard, and not sleeping well, but with the fog in his brain he was beginning to think it was more than just sleeplessness.

Bucky's not aware of any reason why he wouldn't be able to get sick. He does have accelerated healing, but it's nothing like Steve's. He just hadn't considered that something so... normal, could still affect him. He thought it was just stress, but the longer he felt shitty, the more he thought it might be the flu or something, and that… That was just perfect.

He changes into some jeans, and one of Steve's hoodies, and takes Beau for a walk, then wanders down to the commons for some breakfast. There were four interns in for the morning shift, and their diets were not much better than his, but coffee and donuts were as good a breakfast as any, and Bucky chipped in a few dollars, and tried to keep his distance in case he really was sick.

Steve texts him a bit, not steadily, but whenever he got a chance. He was fine. Just missing him. Working hard. Natasha broke her wrist, but other than that, the team was doing good. Bucky fails to mention his ailments. He didn’t want Steve to have anything to distract him from keeping himself and his team safe. Not when they were so close to being done. To coming home.

He gives up around four, returns to his apartment, finds something to eat in the bare shelves of their refrigerator, actually takes time to load the dishwasher just to give himself something to do. He lands on the couch and calls Beau up to sit with him. Steve insisted Bucky not allow him on the furniture, but Steve wasn't here right now, and Bucky was sad.

It takes two hours for Steve to break away for a phone call, and he sounds totally exhausted when he answers.

“Any good news?” Bucky asks, scratching Beau's perky ears

“Natasha’s hand is sprained, not broken.”

“Well, tell her not to punch Barton anymore.”

“Wouldn't do any good.” Steve mumbles, “You enjoy your day off?”

“No,” Bucky says. “But at the same time, I don't want to work tomorrow.” He sighs, “Guess I'm just feeling kinda low.”

“I’m sorry, Buck.”

Bucky groans, “M’damn tired, too.”

“Why don’t you hit the sack early tonight?” Steve suggests, “It may do you some good.”

“Can’t. Sleep and me aren't friends right now.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve sighs, “I've been having the same problem the last few nights. I miss my bed.”

“Your bed.” Bucky echoes. “Thanks.”

“You know I miss you, baby. I just wanna be home.”

“Only a few more days, right?” He'd been saying it for a long time, it felt. Since one week had become two and they were still working steady.

“Right.” Steve whispers.

After they hung up, Bucky made an honest effort to sleep, but when the rest continued to evade him, Bucky sank down in a warm bath to try and soothe some of his stress, resting his head back on the edge of the tub. He takes several minutes to run their previous conversation through his head, then frowning, trying to summon up something else… Something… better. A decent thought to jerk off to. That typically helped him get to sleep. At least for a little while.

When his memory failed him, Bucky reaches for his phone, going straight to his recent calls, and clicking Steve's name. It rang twice before Steve's soft "Hello?" came through.

“Hey, handsome. What are you wearing?” Bucky purrs into the phone, low and seductive, but grinning as he imagined Steve on the other line.

“Hello? Bucky? Is that you?” He sounded worried, but Bucky had never called twice in one night, so he didn’t think much of it.

“Yeah. It's me. It’s Bucky.” He says, then repeats, “What are you wearing?”

“Sweatpants and a tank top. Why do you wanna know what I'm wearing? Are you okay?”

Bucky can hear Natasha laughing, and shot upright in the tub, cursing softly. “Where are you? Is Natasha there?”

“In the hotel. We're watching TV.”

“So late?”

“It’s only nine thirty, Buck.”

“Oh. Sorry. Well. Nevermind. Have fun.”

“No, I can talk. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine.” Bucky says, “It’s… I was in the bath, and -”

“You're in the bath?” Bucky heard Natasha snort in the background, and scrubs a hand over his face.

“You know what, this was a bad idea.” Bucky says, shifting uncomfortably, “Just forget it. I'll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Wait.” Steve says, “Uh. Give me a second.” Bucky heard him excuse himself from the room. Then, the closing of two doors. He settles deeper into the water, resting his head back, fist clenching and unclenching on his thigh. “Okay, Natasha can’t hear us anymore. Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“I’m fine, Steve. I swear. It’s nothing.” Bucky sighs.

“No- it’s okay! I’m here. Tell me. You're in the bath? -?”

“And I couldn't stop thinking about you.”

“I'm sorry, honey. I'll be back soon. I know you’ve had a hard day, but-”

“Damn it, Steve. I’m fine. I'm trying to seduce you.”

He's met with silence for a few minutes, then finally, a soft: “Oh.”

“Yeah...”

“The clothes thing makes sense now.”

“It was just a try. Don't worry about it.”

“I didn’t say no.” Steve says, “You just caught me off guard. Give me a chance.”

And this is the Steve Bucky knows. The Steve who won’t back down from a challenge.

“Actually,” Steve continues, voice dropping lower, “I don't know if I woulda let you in the bath if I was home.” he admits, “I've been thinking about that a lot.”

“Yeah?” Bucky sits back, running his fingers down his chest, “What have you been thinking about?”

Bucky can hear bed springs creak, and a soft sigh. “It’s different every time. Sometimes in bed, sometimes in the shower. Usually up against the wall, wherever we are: living room, kitchen, elevator.” The last one was quieter. “In the bathroom at the airport. The second I get off the plane. No matter the scenario, I can never keep my hands off you."

Bucky felt his face grow warmer as Steve’s voice reaches him, the soft words dripping like honey down his spine. He closes his eyes, wrapping a hand around his erection, and sighing softly. "Keep going."

“I don’t think I’ve ever fucked you in my uniform.” Steve says, “Would you like that?”

“Yeah…”

“Yeah.” Steve repeats, “Good. Saves time. I could grab you right inside the door. Maybe in one of those conference rooms close to your office. I’ll push you down against the table. Fuck you right there. Get you out of those suits you’re always wearing. Teasin’ me.”

Bucky moans softly, exhaling a soft, “Steve…”

Steve falls silent for a minute, but Bucky can hear how much his breathing had picked up. “You’re doin’ it right now, aren’t you? Touchin’ yourself?”

Bucky felt suddenly embarrassed, he pulls in a breath, “Yeah.”

There’s silence for another moment, and Bucky wonders if he’s crossed some line - they’d never actually talked about it… Bucky’s holding his breath, brain just starting to form a sentence when Steve interrupts his thoughts with a low, guttural moan. “That’s so hot, baby.”

Bucky’s head fell back against the solid porcelain of the tub, and he takes a shuddering breath, squeezing the base of his dick as a stray shiver pushed through his body. “God… Steve…”

Steve chuckles softly, and Bucky felt himself melt at the sound, the tension in his body dissolving into pure, molten arousal.

It was one of the hottest things they’ve ever done - Bucky doesn’t even have to think about it. Lying there in the warm bath, listening to Steve confess his dirty fantasies, whisper soft praise into his ear whenever he made even the softest sound. It was both the fastest, and most satisfying climax he’d had in weeks.

He sits in the tub afterwards, limbs like jello, listening to Steve pant as they came down together. After an indeterminable amount of time, he finds his voice, and all he can say is ‘wow.’

“Yeah…” Steve agrees. “God, I miss you.”

“I miss you too.” Bucky sighs, pulling himself up on weak legs, and stepping out of the water. “I am feeling better, though.”

Steve chuckles, “Yeah. Me too.”

“We should definitely do this again.” Bucky says, wrapping himself in a towel.

“Agreed.” Steve says, “But next time, you’re doin’ the talkin’.”

“Deal.”

Bucky slept well that night, the thoughts of Steve warm and welcome in his dreams. It ended in nightmares just like any other night, but he had the thoughts of Steve to keep the panic away as the sun crept over the tops of the tall Manhattan buildings.

Days passed slowly, two weeks dragging closer and closer to three, all wrapped up in countless sessions of Frisbee with Beau, phone calls with Steve, therapy, and a new season of tofu burgers and cauliflower steak instead of actual news. It was hard, but strangely enough, Bucky was adjusting, and as much as he wished to be with Steve, he was learning a lot about himself, and found he could be proud of the progress he’d made to get himself to the point where he could function on his own, and when he realised that, the days became easier.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to try to finish this up. I have most of it written, just a little nervous about the posting. (Be gentle with me.) Thanks for your continued support in kudos and comments.
> 
> One Finger Melody - Frank Sinatra
> 
> (If anyone's interested in some old fashioned tunes. xx)


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